


Primary Colours

by jammybadger



Category: Psychonauts (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, first published fic!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-06-21 04:12:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15549342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jammybadger/pseuds/jammybadger
Summary: How did Sasha and Milla, the best of both worlds at opposing poles, wind up working together side by side as a cohesive unit? An unfavourable recruitment, that's how. Eventual Sasha/Milla, but mostly just action/original fiction.Basically, a series of little vignettes from Sasha and Milla's first assignment, and how these moments in time made all the difference.First time really properly writing fanfiction in this way, so bear with me.





	1. Room for Two

Truman Zanotto had known his fair share of psychics. 

Just last week, he’d been in Beijing supervising the recruitment process, squinting at the carefully choreographed hoops and beams streaming forth from levitating cadets and blazing psi-blasts alike. He’d had to step inside for a while and reluctantly enjoy the company of that ‘Coach’ character while he rested his eyes.

On his desk, a dozen names and faces floated gently in the glow of a data hologram, auditing and recording their latest achievements among swathes of data emerging from trim charts. Under his steady command the laboratories and testing facilities had run relatively smoothly of late, carefully nurturing and culling the more voracious minds from the crop and twinning them into formation for this final assignment. 

He sighed, twisting the shackle that bound his forearm. New agents were few and far between, and good agents were even more elusive.

The sliding doors to his office gently shifted to obscure the two figures entering the lift outside. Cadets Epsilon and Castor were some of the finest Truman had seen in a long time, excelling in all disciplines and already growing outside their means. They were the perfect team. So perfect, in fact, they had been inseparable in their trials; Iorek Epsilon’s advanced telekinesis skills perfectly complimented the clairvoyance capabilities of Ovid Castor. Between them they worked as a single, fluid beast, compatible on and off the field.

That wasn’t to say they were the only cream of the recruitment effort. In fact, Truman was yet to assign his two star pupils to their first fieldwork assignment. As the lift outside pulled back up from the bowels of the head offices, he rubbed his temples distractedly. Epsilon and Castor were evidence enough of the sheer power and efficiency generated by two star psi-cadets in their prime; but it was their personalities that made them a perfect match.

The final two cadets…well…they did not share this distinction. And as the elevator doors slid open once more, Truman Zanotto wondered if he had made the right decision.

Shifting from the very-far left-hand side of the elevator in statuesque indignance was a tall man with dark, short-cropped hair, cut almost to stubble. His bony form barely filled out the bottle-green psi-cadet uniform and his pale, square-jawed face betrayed little emotion. But behind a pair of large, yellow-orange goggles, keen eyes subtley darted to the psi-cadet who stood beside him.

She dominated the elevator car, seemingly oblivious to her partner’s discontent. All hair and bling and bubbly energy, the lady seemed to have been thrust into the straight-legged psi-cadet’s garb with something of a fight. Truman didn’t recall ever allowing recruits their own accessories, but now that he looked at her bouncing ponytail and admittedly stylish choice of earrings, he didn’t think that this cadet would be one for listening to a standard rulebook lecture.

The Head of the Psychonauts stood, and addressed the pair.

‘Cadet Nein, Vodello. As you may have gathered, you have been assigned as partners for this final phase of the recruitment process. You will co-ordinate your efforts in the capture and retrieval of the following target.’

The hologram flickered clear, and its green-blue window expanded outward to reveal a smooth, black carapace mask garbed in a black silk cloak.

‘Nox Arcturus, age unknown, location unknown. Psychic of indeterminable power. Escaped the Moscow outpost at noon last month. They are to be returned alive to the restraining cell at St. Petersburg in due time. You will find resources available in your new office.’

As he spoke, it nagged him to realize just how poor this decision might be. Cadet Sasha Nein seemed almost captivated on very specifically ignoring Cadet Milla Vodello, and judging by her impatiently flickering eyelashes and plastic smile, Zanotto was almost certain that she felt the same way.

‘Any questions?’

Truman already knew the answer to that one. As soon as they were dismissed, he swatted the hologram projector shut, and rubbed his temples.

At least he made the right choice with the last lot.


	2. We know how to show it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Proximity kills.

‘…get night fever, night fever  
We know how to do it  
Gimme that night fever, night fever  
We know how to show it…’

Nothing could have prepared him for this.

‘Here I am…’

His gloved hands rummaged robotically through the folder in front of him. He was nearly an agent, had passed every test the recruitment team could throw at him.

‘Prayin’ for this moment to last…’

He was the top student of the laboratories, the prodigy of the marksmanship team, and as unfazeable as a rock.

‘Living on the music so fine, borne on the wi- hey Zabel! Mmmm…makin’ it mine…’

Sasha Nein was utterly convinced that she did this specifically to annoy him. 

She hadn’t turned up on time once this week. While his desk sat fully stocked with all the materials of a well-prepared worker, her bright maroon insult to the realm of furniture sprawled in an irritatingly organized array of perfect workspaces and gaudily matching stationary. Even through his goggles the colours were obnoxious. He’d had to add extra filters.

In this moment, Milla Vodello was adding the finishing touches to her immaculate research log, chattering to a chrome communications node on her wrist as she adjusted the stereo. If a little BeeGees couldn’t liven up this boring place, nothing could. Even when she’d offered the aux cord to her new partner he’d coldly brushed her off, astutely proclaiming that she could listen to whatever (and he’d said it with a huff, no less) music she wanted to. Ah well. His loss.

He was tensing up even before she reached his desk. God, he had the personality of a slab of granite. She swore the only colour in his part of the room was those ridiculous goggles.

‘These are to treat Sensory Processing Disorder, and assist in my cognitive and mental abilities. They are not a fashion statement, Vodello.’

She huffed, and started looking over the nearest of the haphazard paper stacks covering his desk. She’d forgotten about his unusually high passive clairvoyance. Still, that was his problem. With the sheer lack of things her German co-cadet had to say, it was easy enough to work alone. For her, at least.

Sasha found himself unable to look away from her infernal meddling. He pushed his goggles to his forehead and groaned as she moved onto the next pile. He wasn’t the tidiest of people but he rather thought that results were more important than the aesthetic value of organization, colour-coordination, alphabetization, oh my god why won’t she leave me alo-

The trash can of discarded leads exploded into an orb of sparks and smoke. Hastily pulled his goggles back on, Sasha composed himself, and carefully manipulated the flames into a small peak, prising them from the charred paper and alighting it on a cigarette. Admittedly it had been an impulsive gesture, but that sure showed her. 

At the first sight of the flames Milla had leapt backwards, scattering the remaining folders onto his desk. Fists clenched inside her gloves, she dropped into her chair and swiveled away, leaving only her drooping ponytail visible from behind.

Sasha took a drag, and Milla unplugged the stereo.


	3. Falling with Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That's all there is to flying.

From the moment his feet grazed the rooftop he felt his weight returning, realigning, objective restabilizing in front of him. And with that, he hit the ground running.

Sasha’s navigated the frost-tinged skyline like a bat, flitting and slipping between worn chimney stacks with ease. His forefinger gently grazed against his forehead with every leap, where an expertly trained ball of pure negative thought flickered lazily. 

He was close. Too close to fail.

Behind the tinted glass of his goggles his eyes narrowed, locking onto the shadowy figure in the street below. As he closed the gap, the cadet took a minute to scan his surroundings for his partner. Who was either very stealthy, or very lost, it seemed. Sasha suspected the latter. Cadet Vodello was a flighty, irritating loudmouth. Lord knows how she passed the trials. With so much time spent swanning about the headquarters it was a miracle she was even considered-

Sccccchick!

A thin blade swam through the frigid air and lodged itself in the collar of his jacket, just millimetres from the shaved nape of his neck. Without a second thought a bolt of indigo burst from Sasha’s temple, easily cutting through the figure on the ground. Too easily. 

An illusion. Schiesse.

He swiveled his gaze to the sky just in time to see a billowing sable ghost diving through the air toward him, black carapace shimmering in the moonlight.

The impact carried him off the roof and into the gutters below; he barely had time to levitate himself to a safe fall. He let three psi-blasts fly in quick succession, the second and third of which found their mark on his aggressor. Drawing themselves to their full height, however, Nox did not seem particularly interested in the recharging cadet; his attention was directed toward the skies above.

All pink fire and glittering light, Milla Vodello plunged through the cloud cover in meteoric splendor, and her heel connected with Nox’s helmet hard. Emitting an unearthly shriek, they spiraled back toward the rooves like dark liquid, shards of pure psychic energy spraying erratically across the alleyway. The two cadets launched their shields in unison, but Milla kept moving.

Taking a running leap, she threw herself into the open air and slammed her palms toward the earth, feeling the flow of her own energy and grasping it tight, letting it carry her out of the alleyway and into the starry sky. Her reddish bubble seemed to catch Nox’s slipstream instantaneously and she lurched forward toward their retreating form. They seemed to be weeping blood from a crack in their helmet, but as Milla got closer, she noticed something odd. 

Now, if she had the intensely boring studiousness of that Cadet Nein, she might have been interested in taking a sample. Yes, that seemed like the proper thing to do. The correct procedure. Milla cared enough about procedure to stay in line, but not to listen to some up-himself brainiac tell her what to do in a given situation. 

The blood was made of light. But he could take a sample when she was done.

Her palm connected with the small of Nox’s back, sending them both diving toward the concrete below. Her hair whipped her face if just for a second, before the ground grew too close beneath Nox’s and Milla prepared for a sickening crunch.

It never came.

On impact her fingers simply pushed through their torso like sand, and they just… scattered. Like ashes from a smoke cloud Nox was suddenly everywhere and then nowhere. Her hands found nothing but grit from the gutter.


	4. Caffiene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They call it the last legal drug.

The containment beam gently hummed in the dim lamplight, black shard still suspended in its light. Six hundred and seventy three tests later and its properties were still impregnable, unimaginable, indefinable. 

In his half-awake state, Sasha estimated that it was around test number seven hundred and ninety four that he’d drifted into a doze. He slumped forward, his goggles pushing themselves into a gentle wreath around his neck. This afforded him a little smile at least; since the burning incident Milla always insisted he keep them on, often outright refusing to be in his presence on the rare occasion where he let them drop. Still, she probably had her reasons. Sasha could respect that.

He’d been working at this almost non-stop since their encounter with Nox. It couldn’t possibly be psychic energy; at this distance and length of time it should have disintegrated by now. He’d thrown every chemistry trick in and out of the book at this thing, every experiment and theory, and he’d got next to nothing in return.

When Milla switched on the study lights that morning, he still hadn’t moved. He had dedication, she had to give him that. Frankly it was impressive that he’d been so adamant about analyzing the very weapon that could have easily taken his life not long ago. Gently rolling her desk chair across the linoleum floor, she perched near the edge of Sasha’s desk and studied the blade intently. Sasha’s notes hovered on a nearby screen; acidity, conductivity, solubility, radiation…

It was this column that caught her attention. Something was interfering with the surface radiation levels of the object, whatever that was. Now that she looked at it, in fact, it was as though the psychic beam holding it afloat was mingling, gripping, pulling something from its depths. Something that looked like…colours?

‘Oh. My god. Sasha.’

‘Mmmmgnnnn…’

‘Sasha!’

With a grunt, he raised his head to look. And it made all the difference.

Now that Milla pointed it out, he saw exactly what she did. And suddenly, he knew what he was doing.

He went back to work with frenzied interest, Milla looking on with a strange proud amusement. When he punched the solution into the keypad just an hour later, he crossed over to her desk holding the file with what may have been begrudging respect.

He made sure his goggles were on first, though.


	5. Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An answer, and a brawl.

New York has many names, but if you’d asked either of them about it right now, the Big Apple wouldn’t exactly spring to mind. The first flakes of snow glanced about their forms on butterfly wings, weaving through the emptying streets and smattering across the gently glittering street with the careless precision of a spiderweb. All around, the lazy mid-afternoon sun with its silver-grey shroud of cloud cover dimly illuminated the lights and colours of Time Square in saturated kaleidoscope of hues, echoing the icy swirls of the cool air into star shapes upon the damp pavement .

By all accounts, it really should have been a lovely day.

Milla’s warning had come far too late to the bustling city; the evacuation was barely half complete before the shimmering ink of Nox’s cloak had sprawled itself across an unsuspecting victim. She staggered across the flagstones now, just in front of their cover. Frowning, Milla focused her energy upon the lady’s erratic form. It wouldn’t be long now.

Breathing deep, she stepped out from her invisibility shield. Gone were her lipstick and bangles; she wore only the garb of a Psychonaut. Her shoes, the least gaudy of her collection, dragged slightly along the weathered curb. Its heel hung uselessly underneath a large slash, a single shimmering blade still lodged within.

A few hours earlier, Milla might have had enough hope left within her to try and help her, but as the lady’s first wisps of black breath painted the air, all she could do was watch.

The woman turned, standing limp now, eyes squared at the young Psychonaut. Her paling skin was now greyish in the light, growing darker by the second. Milla saw it in her lips first, the pulsing, oozing black blood filling her veins staining them a purple-grey hue, matching the steady ink trails gently pushing from jet-black eyeballs, the surface capillaries burst and throbbing. The gaudy Christmas patterns on her cardigan were now indistinguishable from her skin, all stained in murky violet as her features melted away.   
Suppressing a gag, Milla gritted her teeth as the lady’s face swirled like plastic into an impenetrable, glassy oval shape.

‘Nox.’

There was no acknowledgement. Tendrils sprang instantaneously from the collapsing form, seeking out the young Psychonaut. Digging her heels into the snow, she flipped out of range, grasped at a levitation ball, and let herself fall to a gentle hover. All that remained of the lady was a shambling mass of sable throes, flickering dull hues in the dying afternoon light. 

A single lash swept the ground, pushing through the air like dye, before zipping upward into the night, neatly shaving a lamppost in two. Sparks flew as the bulb shattered, momentarily stunning the limb, which flashed rainbow and drew back.

That was enough of a signal for Sasha.

By the time he cleared the barrier, his psy-blasts were already flying, azure mixed with sunlight-yellow as they darted from the barrel of a strange rifle, leveled at his eye. He knelt, focusing his power before launching it directly into the girth of a writhing tendril. The impact staggered the limb and the whole mass shook, screeching as he peppered it with blasts. 

Sasha grunted with satisfaction, calmly loading another cartridge. Just as he had calculated. With a few more shots of polarized light beams, Nox would be detained quite easily, the figments of their being readily cauterized into-

He didn’t have time to finish the thought before he saw noticed the smears on the inside of his welling goggles, the blackness enveloping his vision, the static emanating from a small, painless wound, where a piece of iridescent shrapnel glimmered greedily.

The rifle clattered to the ground, and Nox consumed him without a second thought.

Before she knew what she was doing, Milla was upon him. She slammed her palms together, encapsulating the levitation bubble and shaping it into an orb of pure psychic energy. It was raw and hot within her gloved fists, shuddering as it became sharp and brittle. Fanning her fingers and raising her arms, the blades of energy rained down as Milla let herself cry out in anguish.

It was as if time had stopped, as if the world had been frozen. Milla was weightless above the empty square, above the dissipating mass of rainbow streaks. From here, she could see all of them. Within Nox, within his cloak, beneath his pierced mask, a thousand primary colours. The memories, powers, and essences of a thousand stolen minds, swirling together in an agonizing dance. 

It was Sasha who had worked it out. Nox was not a person, but a disease. The physical manifestation of hundreds of traumatised souls, mental illness on the mortal plane. Born from pain, they formed a single, twisted soul, a tragic entity bent on destruction. They were a gaseous star ¬– bright, but so, so dark. Everywhere and anywhere. Nox Arcturus.

Just as the lady had before, Milla could see Sasha losing himself in that mass. Despair flooded from his failing form like sulphur, indigo wraiths of tortured thought. As the waves of thought burst forth, she caught senses, fleeting memories, forbidden and suppressed. Loneliness, fear, guilt, longing…so much longing. A lost mother, a father lost by choice, and an eternal entrapment behind the goggles he wore about his skull.

The goggles he wore to keep everyone, and everything, away. Away from his power.

She fell through the air as though she were sinking into honey, her hands glowing auburn. Her essense, her heart, lay bared quite literally on her sleeve. If Sasha’s calculations were correct, then her theory must, too, hold true.

Milla closed her eyes, and felt the flames ignite in her hands and barely even registered the screams of children, those horrible sounds burned into her mind long ago. She reached right into the heart of Nox Arcturus, and the world turned white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to finish this whole shebang tonight. Just a little drabble, mostly unedited, almost entirely purple prose. I need a creative outlet and nobody reads my poetry so rarepair fanfiction will do.
> 
> Probably the longest chapter, I was drinking a new kind of tea and let me tell you, it's a good un.
> 
> Sorry for the wait, more Grim Fandango and Psychonauts fanfiction will maybe follow maybe. Expected posting time is: when I want to.


	6. Recharge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three moments in time to seal the deal.

The shifting screens of the Motherlobe turned lazily around its core, radiating green-blue light across the busy figures below. Truman Zanotto scanned the crowd meticulously, fingers drumming on the glass countertop in front of him. They’d be here soon enough, those two agents he sent out against Nox, to inadvertently discover some new sentient psychic-energy based life form. He was past sweating now; there were only cold chills upon his skin.

The marksman had been the worst off after the encounter in America. Barely conscious, and hardly registering any brain activity whatsoever, he’d been rushed to the infirmary almost immediately after the jet touched down. The girl, surprisingly, seemed almost pensive, thoughtful even. To his surprise, he found her knocking on his door later that evening, and furthermore, found himself enjoying a cup of tea with her as well.

He remembered scanning those features, those dark green eyes and solemn face. So questioning, bold and unfazed. She’d taken no sugar with her brew, only cold water and a slowly stirring spoon.

‘You know his story, Mr Zanotto?’

He didn’t know how to respond.

‘I know his story now.’

She’d seen it, laid out in front of her the moment the heat of her flames began to dissipate Nox’s hold. A lifetime of loneliness and fear, hardened resolve and meticulous determination. The common thread of every lonely child.

She’d leaned forward then, talking quickly.

‘This is not unfamiliar to me, as you understand.’

He nodded slowly.

‘But someone seeing you, as you truly feel…that would be different.’

She took a sip of her tea, and looked him in the eye.

‘How many others, Mr Zanotto?’

‘We cannot say.’

‘I know their stories, Mr Zanotto.’

‘And Nein knows yours, Agent Vodello. He knows yours.’

***

Agent Nein recovered within a month, following an arduous mountain of treatment. She caught him in their shared bathroom once, his shaver buzzing gently against his skull. His hair had grown much longer on top. She knew the style better than she’d care to admit.

‘Like your father then, darling?’

She couldn’t tell if he was just tolerating it at this point, or if he simply refused to flinch at the pet name.

‘You know what this is about.’

‘I do, darling.’

He studied her reflection more closely now, squinting a little. He’d finally given in about the goggles. They both knew there wasn’t much point keeping that iron in the fire. Sasha had reluctantly agreed to have some stylist from Milla’s catalogues design a new pair, with his prescription lenses. He had to say, they complemented his features. Not to say he was prone to such aesthetic vanity, no, never. But he had to admit, they were a fine improvement. He shifted the neck of his turtleneck to cover a fading scar, and shrugged on a jacket.

‘How are the shoes?’

They felt brand new, the heel perfectly mended in place.

‘Better than ever, darling.’

‘Mmm.’

They stood awhile in comfortable silence, much of the difficult conversation far behind, for the while. It wasn’t until her pager buzzed out a summons that they caught one another’s eyes once more.

‘Time to collect your badge, Milla.’

She smirked, and checked her reflection. Still not official uniform, but a tastefully simplistic burgundy number couldn’t hurt.

‘Not without you, Sasha.’

***

Truman Zanotto, Head of the Psychonuats stiffened to attention as the translucent lift doors shifted open, high above the core of the Motherlobe. Before him stood two capable Psychonaut agents, side by side, sharing the glow of the elevator. He smiled, and carefully lifted the medallions from his drawer.

He’d made the right choice after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, guys. This is my first properly published fanfiction and as a poet, writing stories of this nature has been an interesting challenge. As long as there are small fandoms needing content, I will be here, churning out even less content. But this time, with purple prose. Nice.
> 
> Stay tuned, I'm well hype for that trailer after all.


End file.
